CRAZY EYES'S CRAZY PAIN
by justincbenedict
Summary: Suzanne "Crazy Eyes" Warren was adopted into a world of Caucasian privilege that rejected and violated her, and she returned the favor. She thought it was all over once she was locked in prison. No more judgmental upper class white blondes...but surprise, surprise!
1. Chapter 1

Crazy Eyes looked over her copy of "Twelfth Night, as she lay on her bunk in the cubicle at Litchfield Correctional. Was that Dandelion coming her way? Crazy looked down at

"_Most villanously; like a pedant that keeps a school  
i' the church. I have dogged him, like his  
murderer. He does obey every point of the letter  
that I dropped to betray him"_

Shee-it. The Bard would have plenty of betrayal if he'd seen a week or two at a women's prison. Unwillingly, Crazy moved her head up slightly, and took another look at Chapman. Looked like the girl was coming her way.

"Suzanne, you can make friends with McKenzie and Graceanne if you just try a bit harder." Mummy and Grammy would say. They didn't believe that Suzanne's contemporaries at Rye Country Day School could be racist. Little blonde girls just like grown up Piper Chapman…Crazy had been trying to make friends with them her whole life!

Mother and Dad had always stressed to Crazy that she was a "chosen child" that her skin color was just a beautiful thing about her, and if the love in her heart was expanded, she'd be embraced by everyone. And of course Crazy didn't remember anything about a life before Mother and Dad and Grammy—she'd been adopted when she was three weeks old!

And just like Piper Chapman, the little girls at Rye Country Day had pushed Suzanne back—called her Horseface—they wouldn't dare use the "N" word, but it was clear enough.

And Crazy had returned the favor by Saran wrapping the toilet seats, so little Whitney Hastings ruined her pretty plaid skirt from the Talbots. She'd dropped a firecracker in Madame Bouvoier's antique vase at the dancing school after noting the old Frenchwoman's nose scrunch up at Suzanne's nappy hair one too many times.

It was probably over-sensitivity that forced the matter when Suzanne had killed and bagged her riding instructor the summer before she was supposed to start at Wellesly, just because he had started calling her "Winfrey" for Oprah Winfrey. And it had spread, the nickname…all through the stables, and at sailing lessons.

Putting a bagged person into a wood-chipper looked so much easier on CSI. But what were you going to do? Grammy used her influence with the Attorney General, who had been her first BF after her deb party in 1972, to ensure that Suzanne be sent to low security Litchfield. And Suzanne had promised, so earnestly, to avoid trouble.

And here was Piper Chapman, who Crazy had written off after Chapman's fiancée had said all that nasty shit on the radio show, approaching the cubicle. Dandelion had quit her fiancée, and had been dumped by Alex, her old smuggling lesbo buddy…here in prison.

Well, whatever Chapman wanted now, Crazy Eyes was going to tell her to get the fuck out of her face! She'd tried to make Chapman her "wife" in the beginning, but that little ungrateful bitch could just…

"Suzanne?" Piper smiled at Crazy, her eyelashes fluttering.

Fuck you, Blondie, Crazy thought. I bet your SATs were a lot lower than mine.

"_O cruell causer of undeserved chaunge._

_By greet desire unconstantly to raunge :_

_Is this your waye for prouf of stedfastnes ?"_

"Cra—Suzanne, how are you? I just got out of SHU for the Pensatuckey incident."

"Congratulations on that, Chapman." You manipulative bitch. "Learning to kick some ass, are you?" Crazy leaned back on her bunk, trying to look bored.

"Yeah." Piper blushed. "I wish it hadn't had to go that way. But what could I do?"

Hesitantly, Chapman sat down on the bunk next to Crazy Eyes. Crazy knew that Chapman was seductively trying to play her. If Alex snapped her fingers, Crazy would be history. But here Chapman was, trailing her fingers on Crazy's thigh.

Tell her to get the fuck out your cubicle. Have some self respect!

She's leaning forward, murmuring about loneliness. Goddamnit! Slap her!

As Crazy Eyes met Chapman's lips with her own, plunging her long tongue down the white girl's throat, she cursed herself for the weakness…


	2. Chapter 2

PORNSTACHE'S MUSINGS

"And the story goes on, where every time the woman meets the guy, they mess around, oral and all but she has him blow his load into the mayonnaise jar, and then they break up, and twenty years later, a young beautiful girl shows up at the guy's door, right, and then he makes love with HER, and she tells him 'I'm your daughter from the jar'…and my brother, he believes this story, Alex. I hadda explain that most of the Penthouse Forum stories are written by psychos that Bob Guccione keeps in the back offices."

Alex laughed, deeply and loudly, at Nicky's tale. "Guys really are so stupid, aren't they?" The ladies were sitting on a bunk, and Officer Mendez, who most of the Litchfield Correctional's population called "Pornstache" smirked as he walked slowly by.

What an ignoramus Inmate Nichols was, Mendez thought scornfully. You never know what goes on in the world of sex. That story could very well have happened, although he was unsure of the science involved in a jar of sperm…could it spoil?

Mendez thought of himself as a hedonist in the sex world. He'd seen a film with his Dad and Uncle Jorge when he was in about third grade—a woman got it on with a horse. "Blancas will do anything" his father had told him, grinning.

Papa and Uncle Jorge believed you should really honor your wife, and make sure she was a Latina, but since white women were such sluts, enjoy them as you liked—that was why it was all right to show a porn flick to nine year old—they weren't women anyway, these Caucasians.

But at the same time, Mendez's mother was a white woman, although she'd left Papa before Pornstache could remember her, and all the mothering had come from his Tia Consuelo, his aunt.

Pornstache—he hated the nickname, but it was true he did have sexy facial hair—knew that the women, the dirt bags here at Litchfield hated him. But they wanted him too, right? He'd had a narrow squeak with the suspension for being caught with Daya…and she'd seemed to cool towards him now that he was back.

WHY? Daya wasn't like the rest of the women here, was she? Maybe she thought she wasn't good enough for him. And that was why she was pulling away now…she didn't want to chance meeting in the closet anymore.

Pornstache paused in front of a couple of old chippies gossiping, while leaning on their mops. "This isn't the time for socializing, get your asses back to work!" He watched them scuttle.

That's right. Bark at them. They're fun to push around, these old idiots.

Things weren't as good now—he'd had to stop bringing in the Dilaudids and the Oxies. It had been getting too close, the inspections, and so presently, Pornstache had to live on his salary. Part of that had been garnisheed by his ex-bitch and her brat…so-called child support.

Pornstache bit his lip. If it weren't for the restraining order, he'd tell Guadeloupe what he thought of her—snaring a guy into marriage because you can't even look after your own birth control!

He passed the old Russian, Red, who had just come in from doing landscaping. Pornstache grinned. She wasn't the head of the kitchen anymore, was she? This would learn her to be disrespectful to Officer Mendez. Pornstache remembered when he'd peed in the Thanksgiving gravy, and how she'd thrown it all out, and none of the inmates had topping for their mashed potatoes and stuffing. Hilarious!

Red gave Pornstache a malevolent look, and he grinned at her. "How's the raking going, Red? You getting all those weeds?" Would she give him the finger? He'd love, LOVE to write her up. Give her a shot, put her in SHU, where she couldn't trouble anyone.

Oh, gross. Mendez rubbed his eyes. Was that…Chapman and Crazy Eyes coming out of the chapel? The chapel was a known trysting place for the lezzies. Was pretty Preppie Chapman dropping that low…mating with Cheetah from the Tarzan movies? My God, and they were holding hands.

See, this was why Mendez wanted to get Daya out of here. Those soft brown eyes, the full lips—they'd had this beautiful connection. Was it gone?

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Healy came up beside Pornstache. Healy, who was married through one of those gross catalogues where you entrap a girl from behind the Iron curtain. Healy was really revolted by the gay girls…

"Well, we don't know that's what's going on." Pornstache said carefully. "Chapman makes so much trouble, you know—she got Doggett, the one they call Pensatucky locked up in the nut box, and then they just had a fistfight—she's trouble, Chapman is, maybe she's just trying to mess with Crazy Eyes's head."

"No, she's a degenerate, Mendez." Healy said very seriously. "I've been working with female inmates since I came back from Desert Storm, and when these women get the carpet munching mania—" Healy laughed at his own witticism—"it's hard to control them. I'm just glad I apprised her fiancée of the degeneracy."

"You told Chapman's boyfriend that she's, a bulldagger? Seriously, Healy?" To Pornstache, this was a little far to go, wasn't it? "I mean—if he breaks it off with her, wouldn't that mean she might go for girls full time? Now she's just a bisexual."

Healy looked into Mendez's eyes. "You don't get it. I saw something once about a guy who comes home and his wife is having sex with a female washing machine repairman."

"Was that in Thongs and Dongs Number Twenty-six?"

"No, stupid. This was a Lifetime Television for Women thing. The guy had married the girl, and then he didn't fulfill her, and she went back to her um, Sapphic ways. Yeah." Healy scratched his graying hair. "And it ruined things for the kids, their children. I'm saving Chapman's fiancée a lot of grief in the future. "

Pornstache wasn't so sure. "Are you worried that she's going to corrupt other women here, or what's—"

"Well, I think Crazy Eyes Warren is beyond redemption, but I'm going to keep a close eye on Miss Chapman, a very close eye. Mark my words." Healy gave Pornstache a very serious look, and walked down the hall.

God, I wish I could find a way to put a camera in the chapel. Pornstache rubbed his chin. I'm lonely and horny myself, he thought. Before Tricia had O.D'd, they'd had quite the time in the closets, and then he'd met Daya, who was like no woman in the world. Now that the drugs were gone, he was having a difficult time finding partners, and of course women outside of jail were all frigid, cold fish.

Papa had complained of the women's movement. "Used to be, a broad was grateful if you took her to dinner, to a movie. Now they got the good jobs, they can take themselves to dinner, the selfish—"

Why were women so strange? In high school Mendez looked pretty good, he didn't have an accent, and if his name had been Murphy no one woulda known the difference. But the bitchy girls—girls like Alex Vause, Piper Chapman—they wouldn't even talk to him…it was either tramps like Guadeloupe or his five pretty fingers, then.

Uncle Jorge had gotten his hopeful nephew into the civil service, and this gig at Litchfield had been quite a boon—in the last four years, Pornstache had bedded about sixty women in the closet next to the large bulletin board.

But let's face it, prison women don't count…they're desperate…but Daya, Daya was different. There she was now—talking to Bennet.

What the hell does John Bennet have that I don't? Maybe they're talking about me, though. Bennet had carried a few messages for Mendez during the suspension. Perhaps Daya was telling John how she wished she felt worthy of Mendez, and he was trying to get her self confidence up to come back to me.

But they were standing awful close.


	3. Chapter 3

SEEING IT ALL

Norma Romano had never been one for talking. Her father and brothers had done most of that when she'd been growing up in Newark talking and shouting and slapping her around, and then she'd married Sal, who had slapped Norma one too many times, and then she'd put a little Drano in his oatmeal…"New Jersey vs. Romano APPELLATE DIVISION. _DOCKET_ NO. A-0487-10T4" felt she'd perhaps put in a little too MUCH Drano, alas.

And, since arriving at Litchfield Norma had stopped talking altogether, save the Christmas pageant when Crazy Eyes had flaked out, and Norma had belted out the 1978 pride of the St. Agnes Choir, that had snagged the offer of a Rutgers University voice scholarship, which Papa had voted down, since girls shouldn't go to college.

Today Norma was unpacking ten pound cans of yams—who ordered this stuff?—for the kitchen. Pulling the large cans out of awkward boxes, Norma loaded them on the counter. She wondered how Gina was doing in the sanitarium. Gina's burns were so fucked up, Norma thought as she lugged the last huge can to the counter.

One of those black idiots had left the meat cleaver out, right where the damn cans were supposed to go. Norma moved it to another table and slammed down the can. In the old days you'd get a shot for leaving an axe like that out; but the place was going to hell in so many ways.

Norma had been in the kitchen since her third week inside, back in '96. It was peaceful work, and although Norma was not a great cook (something she had been repeatedly reminded of by Sal before she'd served him his uh, last meal) she could formulaic-ally make chicken ala King for 600, and that was what it was all about, right?

When Red had arrived here nine years ago, Norma had gladly turned the place over to her, and the food was excellent. There were a bit too many spoils in Red's system, and often Norma and Gina had been screamed at by angry inmates when Red decided not to serve them for a week or two at a time…but all in all, they ate well in the kitchen, just a bit above the inmates, and for Norma, who got no outside gifts or commissary, it was a godsend.

The "Kitchenettes" got the best steaks, pies, and whatever else was sent in…you didn't value extra eggs until you'd been locked up in a sorry joint like this one.

The blacks had taken over the kitchen since Red had been tossed after Pornstache's drugs had been discovered. For some reason, Red was not being tried for smuggling, but she was still on the landscaping crew. It was a shame, because the food wasn't what it had been.

Still edible, though—Red had been so insecure that in an attempt to sabotage meals, she'd fucked up the ovens and Gina had gotten her face nearly blown off.

The kitchen double doors opened and the blonde, Chapman, waltzed in with a ladder and some electrical junk. Norma pointed to the light that had been reported as broken and gave Chapman a thumbs up, turning it off and on as well, to demonstrate that it was working now. Sheesh. Sometimes talking was a lot easier than not talking, but Norma really had nothing to say.

Chapman winked at Norma, and smiled. Norma knew that people only did that when they wanted something. This prison was as much like a suburban high school as anywhere else The rich, white girls had their clique, and always kinda got their way—what did Chapman want from Norma?

"I think I'll just sit here on the ladder for a little bit. I know the light's fixed, but I wanted to get out of the shop for a while, you know what I mean, Norma?" Chapman smiled again. She sat on the second rung of the stepladder, humming.

God. Norma hoped she didn't have to be "conversed with" by Chapman. Norma looked longingly at a bottle of Drano on the dishwashing machine, but bit her lip and went back to rearranging the yam cans.

The doors to the kitchen opened again, and Crazy Eyes came in. She gave Norma a venomous look—was it Norma's fault that Crazy choked onstage?—and then Crazy came up to Chapman and Chapman gave her a hug, and they kissed. It looked like Blair from "Facts of Life" was getting it on with Alfalfa from "The Little Rascals."

People would be horrified if they knew what an angry, spiteful person Norma was. A few times she'd let Sal know what she thought of him and his beery friends, and once Sal had over-heard Norma doing a rather clever impression of Sal's hare-lipped sister.

Sal, the great wife beater had told Norma tearfully "You ain't a nice person." At one point, Human Resources from the loading docks where Sal worked had sent him to anger management, and had them go to counseling, because Sal had told his supervisor that he was being a little hard on his wife, he thought—though the things she said to him weren't too nice, neither.

But counseling had just encouraged Norma to tell Sal and the counselor what she thought of him, of his fascination with midget wrestling, the idiots in his weekend motorcycle club, and all the rest. "And, by the way" Norma had told "If you think any of this counseling means I'm going to do the you-know-what anymore, you're both fruity."

So, after coming to Litchfield, Norma just shut up. She liked Red, because the nasty old Russian often said things that Norma wished she could get away with—but after Red burned up poor Gina Murphy, Norma had had enough. Gina was her spiritual sister, after all.

Good gracious, watch the two of them slurping each other's lips, and now they're on the floor. All that rolling around. Chapman had gone from her husband, to Vause and now she was really rolling in the gutter, it seemed.

Papa had taught the kids good growing up—with jokes, you know? "Good news and bad news, kids" he said to Sonny, Mario, Steffon and five year old Norma one night. "Bad news? We been invaded by aliens. Good news? They eat niggers and piss gasoline."

Apparently Chapman had never heard that joke…she was going for it.

The moaning went on, and Norma tried not to listen. "Suzanne, rip open my shirt, my uniform, oh yes…no don't take yours off, that's right, bite my neck…bite my breast…more…more…"

Crazy's voice came up "Maybe we can't do all this here, Dandelion…we should go to the chapel, or some such."

That's for sure, Norma thought rolling her eyes. Besmirch the church rather than my kitchen. Norma, finished with the cans, turned to leave the kitchen, deserted except for the copulating carpet munchers. Wait. Where was that meat cleaver?

Norma stared. She really should put it away, but it wasn't on the table anymore.

Suddenly the twin doors to the kitchen burst open and the fat "pustule" Healy burst in. (That was one of Red's insults) "What the hell's going on?"

"She's trying to kill me, Mr. Healy!" Chapman screamed. "She has a meat cleaver! She snatched it from Norma!"

Healy and Norma both looked down at the same time. There was the meat cleaver, lying on the floor. True, there was no blood on it, but Crazy Eyes Warren's hand had a little blood on it, and Chapman's uniform was open and her skin was scratched raw.

Healy grabbed the screaming, protesting Crazy by her left arm, pulling her off the prone Chapman. "Jesus." Healy said, dumfounded. "You asked me to meet you here while you fixed the light…so we could straighten out our differences. And then this—"

"You see, Mr. Healy," Chapman said as she rose and attempted to re-attach her rended garments, "I think I was hypnotized by Vause…and I thought I was gay, but I'm really a Christian, and I have no idea why Suzanne Warren decided to..to…" Chapman broke into tears.

"You psycho bitch!" screamed Crazy Eyes. "Tell Healy, Norma…tell him what really happened, and I won't kick your ass for taking my singin' part on Christmas Eve! Tell him!"

"You aren't kickin' nobody's ass in SHU, baby." Healy said, dragging Warren with one arm as he radioed for help with the other. "Piper, come into my office and we'll talk about everything. I'm sorry I didn't come to your assistance during the fracas with Doggett, and I'm so sorry this happened. Romano, don't try to clean any of this up until my people get pictures of the cleaver and the blood. Just take the afternoon off."

Why not? Norma thought, shrugging. After all, she didn't have anything to say.

By God, did Chapman just WINK at her?


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm just frustrated with all this, Alex…I think I have to let Piper go, you know?"

Larry heard Alex Vause laughing on the other end of the phone. Why the hell was she laughing? He was doing her a FAVOR calling her, right? How many guys did that for a jailbird?

"Why…why are you laughing, Alex? What, is Piper right there?" Larry shifted uneasily on the Barcalounger, watching a Tivoed "Spongebob Squarepants" with the sound off.

"No, no, Larry. It's not—Piper and I aren't speaking, actually. I told her if she wanted to go back to you, and marry you, she and I would be kaput. And now, of course she's kaput with both of us."

But Larry could detect a giggle in Alex Vause's tone. "What—what's the joke, then? You're happy that I'm taking a hard line with—with Piper?" Fucking dykes.

"Well, no, Larry. It just amuses me, you know—most of the women in here, their boyfriends kind of look after them, or their husbands, or their fathers. Keep them in commissary, that kind of thing—try to make plans for release. But how can you afford to take, as you put it, a 'hard line' with Piper? Can you afford that?"

Was she laughing again? Larry had visited Alex Vause twice now, and had been calling her, telling himself that he was trying to understand Piper more um, clearly. But he always felt like he was prostrating himself before Alex, who was, after all, just an imprisoned drug dealer-junkie-lesbian. A loser. She never even went to college, according to what he'd learned from Piper.

"I don't know what you mean by that, Alexandra." Larry said sternly, while watching Spongebob throw some sort of seaweed pie into Squidward Tentacle's scowling visage. Mom promised me HD-TV, he thought. He was so sick of waiting. He could barely see Squidward's chin with this crappy set.

"It's Piper who is getting the big loss here, don't you think, Alex? I mean, I know you had a thing with her, but gay rights aside, I think I'm more of a catch—"

"A catch? And besides, my name is just Alex. My mom got knocked up by a low-level rock singer, and she named me after my dad's drummer, who gave her great head." Alex giggled again.

"What makes you such a catch, Larry? When I first heard about you, you were bitching that Piper's soap company wasn't succeeding fast enough, not that you were helping at all, and you were, and I guess are, still financially dependent on your parents, right?"

"I've had a tough time adjusting, it's a challenge, but I'm only thirty-four—"

"Beautiful, Larry. I left home when I was fourteen and had a condo in Belize with a sauna and a hot tub within nine months. And you owe Piper everything. All she did for me was take one little package on a plane, you know?"

"My dad assisted with Piper's defense at no cost—"

"Right, right. And he pays your rent, your car payment, and what else—your cable bill too, right?"

Annoyed, Larry snapped off the remote and threw it on the floor. His Inner Child therapist was trying to teach him to give up pouting, but he felt his lower lip trembling.

"Look, I'm a writer, and I get interviewed on National Public—"

"Beautiful. Your first article was about Piper, and nearly got her shanked, and then you blabbed about her on NPR. Both of your accomplishments are connected to your fiancée being a convict, right?"

Larry pouted, and tried to pull back the remote with his foot without moving from the couch. Shit. It's stuck there.

Alex's voice came again. "Larry? Are you there? There are other women waiting to use the phone. If you want to converse further, tell me about your non-Piper Chapman related articles, just one or two."

Larry's therapist had warned him about bullies. There were the street bullies, and then there were bullies like his cousin Eugene, who had razzed Larry about being turned down by Columbia Law School.

It wasn't as if Dad hadn't made Larry earn every penny of his spending money until he was sixteen…so he'd looked after a few needs after that—everyone kept telling Larry he was kept—Piper had supported him before she went up, and his parents had been really helpful, and the various bullies, jealous people had made Larry feel un-needed shame…"shaming" was a verb.

And now there was this teasing bitch in jail…"Don't give them ammunition to torment you with" Dr. Judy had warned him, as had the nice girl at Dionne Warwick's Psychic Hotline, in other, more holistic words.

"I um, wrote an article about Maputo mud huts when I was in Lusaka, Africa during the Peace Corps."

"And before that? School newspapers don't count."

"Um, I edited Kamp Kawa-hai-weth's newsletter when I was Head Arts and Crafts Counselor—it was quite a demanding job."

Alex's nasty laugh came again, and it sounded as if she was almost apoplectic with mirth.

"Larry, I love talking to you. I (giggle) I was kinda depressed because some of the laundry I have to do here in stir came out pink, but now I'm in a fabulous mood. You really cheer me up….yeah; you dump Piper and get on with your life. "

Before the phone clicked Larry heard Vause scream "Hey Nicky let me tell you about the Kamp Kawa-hai columnist!"

After the phone went silent, Larry noticed he had a message, from Healy, the counselor over at Litchfield. Larry listened to the message, and although he was concerned at first, he began to smile.

Maybe love was in the air once more…after all!


	5. Chapter 5

In Numbers 14:12 they said it, buddy—" I will smite them with the pestilence, and disinherit them, and will make of thee a greater nation and mightier than they." And where better a place to start smitin' than here in th' lockup?

But, thought Penssatuckey ruefully, p'raps goin' for that silly nun's nostril with pruning shears might've been a bit hefty a penance for her nonsensical Papism.

As Tiffany Doggett looked around at the narrow four walls of her little bungalow in the Secure Housing Unit, she snickered. Not like she'd done much to ruin the Sister's already homely face…should just cover their faces with the habit.

When Tuckey was small, Paw-Paw's social worker had got some kind of voucher to send Tiff, Bubba and Sabrina-Ernestine to Catholic school for a year, and while there were only about four nuns there, they were nasty…ugly, and MEAN.

Tuckey and Bubba had quit after the first week, didn't even go back to public, just sat home with Paw-Paw and watched "The Guiding Light" but Sabrina-Ernestine had stuck it out for half a year before she got tossed out after one of the Sisters had made out that it was Sabrina-Ernestine's fault that there was a teeny little lice breakout. It was probably Adney Fisher's family that brought in the nits, anyways…

'Course Sabrina-Ernestine shouldn't a thrown the Swiss Miss hot chocolate into Sister Mary Rutabaga or whatever her name's face…but you can't take people saying you got bugs in your head!

Now Sabrina-Ernestine was doing six to twelve in State Mississippi Correctional because she cut a Greyhound driver's ears off after he said she was too fat for the seat. Huh. Both of 'em, and she wore them on a necklace and drove the bus halfway to Gulfport… don't mess with the Doggetts.

Bubba was even nastier…he was somethin' called a Tea Party Activist. Even saying it out loud made Tuckey squirm.

But Tuckey had made the Doggett clan proud. After all, the nice pro-life people had had her on the television, and were sending her family lots of money. Tuckey had had her picture taken with Pat Buchanan, and somebody who worked for the Pope…shit, she and the Pope might as well be best friends, right?

All those wasted years…pot in third grade, then smack and crack in middle school—and then the meth pipe. Nothing, no high she'd ever had was like the one she got from Jesus, though. He was Tiffany's everything. And she knew He was here with her, in the SHU.

Times before she was saved, Tuckey had been in and out of various Seclusion Wards and Solitary Confinements—she'd been in the hole in reform schools and mental hospitals, county jails and prisons…and felt so alone.

But when Christ had come into her life, she'd had an amazing change. She felt like He was with her everywhere. Tiff had read about missionaries, Christians who had been put to death, and eaten by lions, locked up in Russian prisons—just for being right with God.

And here she was, a martyr to the faith. Her lawyer, Ezekiel Greenwood, was also a Baptist preacher, and he had told Tiffany quite seriously that she had been chosen by God, a female David against the government Goliath!

'Course Ezekiel had also fucked Tuckey in the little jail room, but he wouldn't have done that if she wasn't special, right? Yes, Tiffany was special!

There was a loud moan from the next cell. Then the crying. The nigra Crazy Eyes, just couldn't shut up. What'd she expect? Of course Piper Chapman, the great Satan, had entrapped her. 'Member what Chapman had done to Tuckey?

You'd think NOTHIN' would rattle Tuckey's faith. After the Lord had swooped into Tiffany's meth-addled body at that clinic and had her shoot that baby-killing, scalpel wieldin' bitch with Cousin Oligarch's squirrel gun…and since then, the church people defended Tiff…went through the dang Bible with her…and then Chapman played that trick, made Tuckey get all locked up in the psych unit for thinkin' she was a faith healer.

Goddamn, Crazy Eyes is wailing again in that next cell. What a moron she is.

"Shut the fuck up, lesbo." Tiffany "Pennssatuckey" Doggett said authoritatively. "You got yourself into—"

"Shut up, I'm an atheist…you should be too!"

Well, I like that, Tuckey thought superciliously. I'm locked in here because of a difference of Scriptural opinion, and you're just a damn bull-dagger, a cunt-chomping damn lesbo.

Tuckey knew, because her lawyer had told her, that this life was just a temporary thing. One day she would be reunited with the six children she had murdered. And they would forgive her, and she'd take them through the Bible, right up there in Heaven.

Feeling magnanimous, Tuckey leaned down to the little grille. "Well, I cain't blame ya. Chapman screwed me over too, in a way. You'll git over it, thar, um, Warren."

Crazy's voice came out, snuffling a bit. "I-I'm so humiliated. She used me, like a fucking—"

"Language, please." Tuckey interrupted.

"Like a darned cigarette butt. I just feel so used, and I know I'm going to get a new sentence. I'm doing life without anyways, but still."

"Well, mebbe we can git even with Chapman when we come outta here, prob'ly a way." Tuckey said, gnashing what was left of her teeth.

"I'm listening, Doggett" came the voice through the grille. "What's your idea?"

"Waal, we'll be here a while, I reckon we can think of somethin'."


	6. Chapter 6

"You should be nice to him, como se mire?" Aleida said earnestly to her sulking daughter. "He has money, you know."

"Who?"

"Officer Mendez. He keeps dropping off gifts at your cubicle, and it's nice to get stuff from him. I know this isn't fun for you, hija, but really…" Aleida was so self centered…it was all about her, all the time!

Daya got up off of her mother's bed. "I didn't want to do this in the first place, Mom. I didn't want to touch Pornstache, and just did it to protect John."

At "John" Aleida rolled her cruel eyes. Of course Aleida couldn't understand any concept of love. Her heart was a wallet, really.

Daya walked out of the little walled cubicle ignoring her mother's shaking head. Where was John? So disgusting…seducing Pornstache, to the point her stomach was sick with the effort—she should get an Oscar for her acting!

It had been so nauseating, Mendez slobbering all over Daya's face, and she'd begged him to just get on with the sex, he was such a creepy creature. And he was constantly telling Daya that he felt like a "piece of meat" at the jail, that all the women were desperate to have him, it was almost surreal.

Finally, they'd arranged for Pornstache to be caught banging Daya back-door style in a closet, and he'd been suspended, though it was a mystery why he'd not been fired, right? So this was supposed to take care of who was the father of John's baby….but it just created more grief for Daya.

And now Mendez was back at the prison and in LOVE with poor Daya, who just wanted him to leave her the fuck alone. Truly, Officer "Pornstache" Mendez was disgusting.

And John, of course, was kind of pulling away now…he'd had some real trauma over this! But it was funny; Daya couldn't understand why John Bennet couldn't just man up a little bit. Okay, it's a scary deal, possibly losing your job, maybe going to prison yourself for involving yourself with an inmate, but Jeez.

What could she do to entice John Bennet back? The father of her child…and truly, the love of the lonely Daya's life…she thought.

Daya thought of her friend-Miguel Chauca, Jr. In school, she and her girlfriends had dissed Miggs as a geeky idiot…but he was funny, and he'd helped her out of a few jams…and now, outside, he was manager of his uncle's car wash.

And Miggs was always bringin' Daya stuff from the bodega, food you couldn't get in prison or many other places. And he was still really sweet on her.

Daya had advised Miguel of her problems, and he'd grinned that crooked toothed smile of his. "Marry me, Daya…we'll raise the little blanca and it'll kick ass…us!"

Miguel had been so nice to her many nights on the stoop when she'd cried after being kicked around by Aleida or one of Mom's sucky boyfriends. Miguel had been quite a comfort, and once or twice, Daya had given him some body…they'd fooled around. Miguel was cute in his own way…but he wasn't a mystery, like John Bennet.

John was such an earnest, beautiful guy…oh shit, it was his day off. But they'd had Saturday to talk…it was good he had to work on Saturday, as it had been a free day for her.

Could she re-connect with John to the point he wouldn't be distracted or afraid? John Bennet wrote poems about Daya's lashes, her smile…maybe things would go her way, but maybe not.

Daya walked along, shaking her head. This was so much like high school.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm, and turned. PORNSTACHE!

"Uh, Officer Mendez!" Icky Poo Poo.

"Please, Daya, call me Jean-Claude."

"What?"

"I told you, I'm changing my first name after my idol, Jean-Claude Van Damme." Pornstache reached up and stroked Daya's cheek, and she tried not to flinch.

"I've missed you so much, my darling." He pronounced "darling" "durlin'" Was he picking up tips from Lifetime, the TV channel for Women?

"I have something for you, Daya…a ring. It's genuine cubic zirconia. I ordered it on the Shopping Channel for $19.99. If we can get you paroled, we can marry, honey."

"I—I don't really want to marry you uh, Jean-Claude." Where did Mendez get this shit? "It's…we had a passing thing, you know?" Daya tried to smile. So easy would it be to spit in his disgusting face.

She'd really turned out like her mother. Aleida had become involved with a series of drug dealers, cutting cocaine in bra and panties in the kitchen…and then when Aleida had caught a charge, Daya had stepped right in there, fucking the dirt bag, telling herself that it was only to support her younger brothers and sisters.

She knew what it was like to have nothing to eat, to watch Mama making the rent on her back, and being forced, as a nine year old, to let the sicker of Mama's clients have a good time with her—nasty, nasty!

Daya didn't want this sort of life for her little siblings. The poor things. Right now, the house was still a damn drug den, and if anything went wrong with that, the kids would wind up in foster homes. Maybe an orphanage. What a nasty deal that was!

And now this grotesque THING…oh, that moustache. He wanted to be called Jean-Claude—Daya wanted to call the Humane Society and have him put to sleep.

And then…walking behind Pornstache, Daya saw John Bennet, talking to…that white bitch, the one who had trashed Pennsatuckey. What were they talking about so closely?

As John looked her way, Daya took Pornstache's hand, and tried to look somewhat interested….


End file.
